


let our ghosts loose, let me know that you're still there

by rileynoah



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Fluff, Longing, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25858792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileynoah/pseuds/rileynoah
Summary: Nights in the mansion are lonely, and Beau misses the cold hard ground, surrounded by her friends.title from Let Me Hold You by Nick Wilson
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 11
Kudos: 251





	let our ghosts loose, let me know that you're still there

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really write CR fic, despite it being my main fandom at the moment. The connection of player to character in my head is close enough that it sometimes makes me feel weird, even though I know they're totally okay with it and everything. But this idea I could not get out of my head. Ever since listening to Yasha's second playlist, and specifically Let Me Hold You by Nick Wilson, I have thought of nothing but this idea of what the dynamic would be like once Caleb got the mansion (as we know Liam said early in C2 that he wanted to take the spell when he could). 
> 
> Anyway here is the fruit of literally weeks and weeks of obsessing over this idea. It's not very long, it probably won't get a follow up. But I had to put it on paper, and so why not share it with ya'll. Thanks!

Ever since Caleb had figured out how to cast the mansion, the energy between the group had changed. Not necessarily in a bad way, but now they could sleep alone each night, have their own space and keep their privacy if they so wished. Beau appreciated her space. And at the same time she didn't.

The dome created an excuse for her touch starved ass to cuddle with her friends, not that she needed an excuse to cuddle with Jester at this point. Which is great, fantastic even, but there is someone else she would also really like to cuddle with, someone she doesn't really have an excuse to. 

They hadn't really cuddled before per se. But they had slept side by side, backs to each other, feeling the warmth radiating between them. Beau, in the comfort of her queen-sized, downy, incredibly comfortable mattress, missed the rock hard floor, if only for that moment of connection with her. With Yasha.

Beau had asked her before, to hold her. But it was a joke, a throwback to a lifetime ago when Beau was only really lusting after Yasha. When she was basically a stranger. At least Beau had framed it that way, laughed it off, got a bit of a rest in, held securely in Yasha’s arms.

Yasha looks like a total badass, a hard ass, somebody you don't want to mess with. But spend more than a few days with her and you start to see the soft underside. The pain behind the anger, the loss, the grief. Beau feels like she understands in a way, but also knows she could never truly understand the magnitude of Yasha's hurt.

But she wants to. She wants to know Yasha. More intimately than she'd admit aloud. She thinks that Caleb may be beginning to suspect. The wizard is too smart for his own good at times. But she finds comfort, and only a little surprise, that she trusts Caleb with those suspicions wholeheartedly.

Shaking back to reality for a moment, she wonders how long she’s been staring at the ceiling, wide awake and somehow feeling so uncomfortable in a magically crafted mansion designed to be the opposite. 

She drags her sorry ass out of bed and creeps downstairs into the kitchen, asking the ghostly servants in a quiet whisper for some whiskey to keep her warm. Only when she’s received her glass does she turn towards the large living room to find it dimly lit, a low orange glow emanating from the fireplace. A shadow is cast on the floor, reaching almost to her feet by the figure sitting in front of it. Beau instinctively knows who it is, even before she registers the oh so quiet hum of the harp floating along with the shadows. 

She creeps in, bare feet padding along the lush carpet until she reaches one of the large, deep maroon armchairs, and she sinks into it quietly. The cushion compresses under her weight and the little puff of air it releases makes the harp falter. Beau winces.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She whispers.

Yasha’s head raises from it’s dipped position, she turns just enough to look at Beau from the corner of her eye. 

“It’s okay.” She says, and Beau thinks she sees the corner of her mouth curl up into a brief smile before she turns back to look into the fire. “Can’t sleep?”

Beau chuckles dryly, and sips at her whiskey. “Missing the cold hard ground, surrounded by 6 other people's body heat.” 

Yasha nods slowly. “It feels too comfortable…” she heaves a sigh. “Too lonely.”

Beau lets out a long slow breath, her chest feeling a little warmer knowing that Yasha understands. She doesn’t say anything, but the silence is not uncomfortable. Beau has always been an exceptionally awkward person at times, but in this quiet moment, that hangs between them, she doesn’t feel anxious at all.

A long moment passes, and Yasha dips her head again and the harp picks up once more. The notes are low, and quiet, as not to disturb the rest of their friends sleeping in various rooms upstairs. Beau sinks further into the armchair, swinging both feet over one arm and nursing her whiskey close to her chest, letting the music waft over her. 

Yasha plays a slow, lonely sounding melody. She’s been getting better every time Beau hears her play. It’s not often that Yasha practices where the others can hear her, but Beau feels grateful for the opportunity to listen. To hear Yasha’s soul laid bare in the music she creates. 

When the song comes to an end, several minutes later. Beau takes a long deep breath and smiles. “You’re getting really good.”

As expected, Yasha turns slightly bashful. She chuckles, and rubs the back of her neck, though Beau thinks she may be smiling. 

“Thank you.” Yasha murmurs, and Beau is only slightly surprised that Yasha had not tried to turn down her compliment. She’d been getting better at that too. 

“Having something to focus on… to work on, has been good for me, I think.” Yasha continues, her voice quiet, but sure. She nods, as if agreeing with herself. 

“How so?” Beau asks.

Yasha shrugs, struggling to find her words for a moment. She eventually turns to peer at Beau from the corner of her eye again, but turns away again before she speaks.

“It helps me process. I have a lot of things I never let myself really feel. I hid behind my anger, I let myself be controlled and used.” Yasha frowns down at her lap, running a hand over the bone harp slowly. “But I don’t want to be shackled by that anymore.”

Yasha raises her head, and turns to face Beau properly now. She is backlit by the dim glow of the embers left in the fireplace, and Beau has to work to control the way her throat catches ever so slightly at the sight of her. But she doesn’t turn away, she meets Yasha’s gaze head on and waits patiently for her to continue. She won’t ruin this moment.

“There is nothing wrong with anger. Or grief. There is nothing wrong with feeling. But I won’t be paralysed by it anymore.” 

Yasha looks away for a moment, lost in thought. Beau isn’t sure what to say, or if she should say anything at all. She understands, to a degree. Beau had let herself be held captive by her own anger before. She still does. Anger at her father, anger at her mother. Anger at her lack of control over the situation with her family. 

Though Beau will never understand fully, she may understand Yasha better than she thinks. 

Yasha is still lost in thought, her eyes now back on the fire, staring deeply into the orange embers, the flames almost completely gone now. The room grows ever so slightly colder, and it reminds Beau of the impending morning, that she should be trying to get some rest. Both of them should. 

She finishes off her glass of whisky, placing the glass gently on the end table beside the armchair only for it to be whisked away by a ghostly servant not a second later. The click of glass against wood seems to break Yasha from her train of thought and she glances up at Beau.

“You should try and get some sleep.” She says, brow furrowed with concern. 

“So should you.” Beau shoots back with a wry smile. Yasha chuckles, and they both know that neither of them are going to rest too peacefully tonight. Not unless…

Beau looks towards the staircase, towards her room, and then looks back at Yasha, still sat in front of the fire, unmoving. She takes a breath, and then another, deeper breath.

“Yasha…” Beau murmurs.

Yasha looks up at her again. Beau almost believes for a second there might be hope in her eyes, but she shuts that thought down quickly. She swallows heavily, looking down at her hands wringing together in her lap and shakes her head.

“Nevermind.” Beau stands from the armchair and starts to make her way to the staircase.

“Beau.” Yasha calls after her. 

When Beau turns, Yasha is on her feet now too, holding the harp loosely in one hand. Her expression is hard to make out with the dying fire lighting her from behind. 

“What is it?” Yasha presses. Beau feels her resolve crumble with that one tiny push. 

“Will you hold me?” Beau whispers, so quiet she’s almost afraid Yasha might not hear her. But she's afraid to say it any louder, for fear of shattering this moment, this piece of Yasha that she has been allowed to hold. 

Beau can’t meet Yasha’s eyes, can’t even look towards her as she waits for the negative answer she’s sure is coming. When no answer comes at all, Beau wonders if Yasha has left, until she feels a hand on her arm.

Beau finally looks up, Yasha’s pale hand resting on her forearm, and her eyes gentle.

“Of course.” Yasha says, and Beau struggles to understand those two simple words. 

Yasha’s hand slides down Beau’s arm to take her hand, and she starts to lead Beau towards the staircase. Beau follows, letting herself be led up the stairs slowly, one by one until they reach her room. Yasha opens the door for her, and closes it gently behind her.

Once they reach the bed, Beau hesitates again, looking up at Yasha in disbelief, and hope. Yasha meets her eyes and smiles gently, then turns to climb onto the bed, under the thick blanket.

When Yasha is settled, she lifts the blanket and looks at Beau expectantly.

Beau sucks in a shaky breath. Her mind is racing, and at the same time frozen trying to make sense of the situation, of the connotations, of what this means.

“Is this a good idea?”

Yasha searches her eyes for a moment, her brow furrowing with thought. 

“I don’t know,” She finally breathes. And then she shrugs. “But I don’t really care.”

Beau exhales long and slow, and decides to ignore the unanswered questions, for the first time in a long time. She climbs into bed as well, shuffling towards Yasha and rolling onto her side, her back to Yasha’s front. An arm snakes around her waist and tugs her back gently. 

“Try and get some sleep, Beau.” Yasha murmurs into her hair, arm snug around Beau’s waist and heartbeat thumping steadily, comfortingly.

Beau swallows, and nods, and lets the anxiety ooze out her skin, into the mattress. She let’s the warmth of the covers, of Yasha’s body take over instead. 

“Night, Yasha.”


End file.
